Chapter 7
Tuesday stepped onto her brother’s porch, and the door opened before she could knock. He’d likely heard her car from at least a mile away.
“Finally. I was getting worried,” he said, taking the paper-wrapped tenderloin from her with the reverence it deserved.
She glanced at his clock. “I’m four minutes early. You’re just anxious.”
“I’m not anxious.” He was beyond anxious, and Tuesday thought it was cute.
She followed him to the kitchen, where he unwrapped the paper and settled the Wellington on the counter, his eyes wide. “Oh, wow. You’ve outdone yourself. This is perfect.”
“I know.” She took a breath and scented duxelles along with something chocolaty.
“Where’s Amber?”
He rolled his eyes. “Getting her nails done.”
She smiled at him, her sensible brother in his sensible house, with a well-paying but boring job, head-over-heels in love with a woman who was the opposite of sensible, but who seemed to love him as fiercely as he loved her.
Amber was sweet, genuinely kind, and honest. She put ketchup on her spaghetti, but Tuesday had mostly made her peace with it because she made her brother happy.
“You seem distracted,” August said.
“I’m fine.”
He stepped closer and sniffed, his gaze on her face. Her brother had their grandmother’s dark eyes that seemed to see everything, and it was unnerving. “You smell like someone.”
“I smell like me.”
“You smell like you and someone.” He tilted his head. “Male. Wolf, but not pack.” A pause. “Very male.”
She held his gaze and said nothing, which was its own kind of answer.
August was quiet a moment, the deliberate focus of a man deciding how much to say.
“Is it serious?”
“It was one night. We fucked.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She sighed. “Like you said, not pack. Not a sensible partner. A really fun fuckbuddy though.”
“Hmm.”
The single sound told her he saw through what she was saying, and she picked up her keys to avoid further questions. “Have a fun evening, and god, don’t let her put fucking ketchup on the Wellington.”
- - - ? - - -
Tuesday’s grandmother was waiting on the front porch when Tuesday pulled up early on Sunday, two coffees already on the table between the chairs, and the scent of sweet potato pie wafting through the front door. Tuesday’s stomach growled.
She settled into the chair beside her grandmother and took a sip of her coffee, remembering Knife knowing how to make hers because of her grandmother.
“Your energy is different.” Her grandmother might’ve said it as a statement, but they both knew it was a question.
“I read a fantastic book last night and then slept seven hours straight.”
Her grandmother took a sip of her coffee. “Knife seems like a good man.”
Tuesday stilled for a half-second and then took another sip of coffee while she regrouped. Of course her grandmother had recognized his scent on her. She missed nothing. “Agreed.”
“Straightforward. Knows what he is and what he isn’t.” She looked out at the yard. “Doesn’t pretend to be something else.”
“No,” Tuesday agreed. “He doesn’t.”
A comfortable silence settled between them again, but she knew her grandmother would have more to say.
“Bikers have rules against being close to pack wolves,” her grandmother said. “They have too many secrets to risk it.”
She frowned. “Supernatural rules? I know some shifters have complicated rules about interspecies dating, but at least we’re both wolves.”
And yeah, they were both part of different powerful organizations, but everyone would understand two wolf-souls who spoke to each other, if it led to it.
For now though, she didn’t intend to let it go past friends-who-fuck.
She didn’t need the complications of a biker who possibly saw various laws as suggestions rather than absolutes.
“I’m afraid that isn’t part of the equation, baby.
” Her grandmother’s voice was gentle but precise.
“Any secret you carry, Kenny can access. Not because he would — Kenny is a good alpha, and he respects privacy when he can, but for something important to the pack, he’d have to, whether he wanted to or not. ”
Right. The magic of the blood bond gives the alpha access to override your willpower, to completely control both human and wolf.
As a child, the alpha can use his blood bond with the parents to reach the child, but that ability doesn’t survive long past moving out of your parents’ home. Older teens have to decide whether to oath to the pack or become lone wolves, and she’d never once considered not taking the oath.
“The MC survives on secrets and discretion,” her grandmother continued. “They follow their own laws, but not necessarily society’s. They can’t risk a brother sharing things with a girlfriend who is bound to an alpha who can control her with impunity.”
She paused. “It isn’t about not trusting you. It’s about the fact someone can override your willpower and order you to tell their secrets.”
The sweet potato pie smell drifted out again, warm and familiar, and Tuesday stared at her coffee.
This changed everything.
Because her wolf was more than interested in this man, and she’d known it from the start. She’d told herself it was just a fun fling, but she’d left some space to possibly change her mind and let it turn into more.
But this meant it couldn’t turn into more.
She sighed. “He knew how I liked my coffee. How many people do you blab my dark secrets to?”
Her grandmother gave a soft laugh. “He’s a nice young man, so of course I told him about my granddaughter.
What else am I going to talk to him about?
I’d sound like an old woman talking about the good old days.
” She shrugged. “The two of you are part of the same generation, so it made conversation easy.”
With barely a pause, her grandmother said, “Your wolf likes him.”
Tuesday nodded. “Yeah. She does. I’d decided we don’t need to complicate our lives with a biker, but…” She shrugged. “I thought the possibility was there, if I changed my mind.”
“Knowing this, will you see him again?” The question was simple, direct, and absolutely devastating.
Tuesday was quiet for long enough, a cardinal landed on the porch railing and flew away again before she answered.
“We have plans for Monday. It would be rude to cancel.”
“You don’t owe me any answers, but you might have a conversation with yourself about where you want things to go before you decide to follow through on those plans.”
Before Tuesday could respond, her grandmother stood. “The chicken pot pie has had plenty of time to rest, and I didn’t make it to sit on the counter.”
Tuesday followed her inside, and neither of them said anything else about the complications Knife might bring to Tuesday’s life, because her grandmother had said all she felt needed to be voiced.
And now it was up to Tuesday to figure things out. If she asked for advice, her grandmother might give it, or she might ask questions to help Tuesday figure it out.
But Tuesday wasn’t going to walk away from the long scene Knife had promised.
- - - ? - - -
Knife walked across the road from the restaurant to the clubhouse and breathed in the night air. The day had been good, working the bar with Dawg and handling the Valentine’s Day crowd.
And now the clubhouse was filled with all the single bikers.
The ones not on dates with their ol’ladies — with a few exceptions.
Angelica was out of town doing some kind of dam inventory.
She was an engineer for TVA, and they wanted her to put eyeballs on every dam they owned for some reason. That meant Bash was here without her.
And Razor had taken Matty out the night before for their big date, so he could be at the clubhouse tonight. As their newest enforcer, he’d drawn the short straw, and both Gonzo and Bubbles were doing the whole Valentine’s thing with their ol’ladies.
Knife got a beer and sat on a sofa to watch Matty and Fist race motorcycles on the big-screen, but then turned when one of the sweetbutts went to her knees before Dawg — and he just stared at her.
Mostly, sweetbutts wait until someone requests them. They all want Dawg though, so sometimes one will get brave and make a silent offer.
It took Dawg a good thirty seconds to decide how to respond.
“Seems Backdoor’s brown-eye is feeling neglected, and I’m thinking we need a contest.”
He stood and stepped to her side, looked around the room, and then nudged Backdoor’s foot with his boot. “Lean over the pool table.” He looked up. “Freckles, Hot Pocket. Join her.”
“You can’t have Chiquita,” Viper said, sitting on another sofa with the sweetbutt lying sideways, his dick in her mouth, her head completely still.
“Kat either,” Paco said, legs spread, leaned back in a chair with his eyes closed, Kat on her knees before him, going to town on his dick.
Knife looked to the pool table and his cock pulsed in his pants, suddenly interested.
Two of the three leaned over the pool table were still wearing short skirts. Freckles only wore her insanely high heels and nothing else.
Dawg pulled the skirts up and tucked them into the waistbands, and Knife took physical inventory.
Freckles’ breathing had sped in anticipation. Hot Pocket seemed totally chill. Backdoor had her head up, looking around. This was performative for her, and she wanted to know who was watching.
“Who wants to play?” Dawg asked. “I’m in the mood to wield a cane.”
“Belt,” Bash said, and he looked at Knife. “We need you with the horsewhip.”
“Damned straight we do,” Razor said, and looked at Matty. “Run downstairs and get my tawse, boy.”
Matty stood and left without comment, leaving the game controller on the side table. No complaining about losing the game because he had to abandon it. Good submissives are rare, and Razor had found a gem.
The door to the back of the clubhouse closed behind Matty, no one else spoke up, and Dawg said, “Belt first, then cane, horsewhip, tawse. Bash first. Each girl gets three strikes. Go down the line, then I’ll give each three. First to safeword…”
When he paused, Razor said, “We need a show, followed by a train. Knife can do his shibari thing, string the loser up so we can all fuck her the rest of the night.”
“Works for me,” Bash said. “Winner gets Dawg?”
Dawg smiled. “It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”
Bash swings the belt like he means it, every time. The first crack was loud and vicious, as were the two that followed. One step forward, and he hit the next girl three times while the marks on the first ass went from crimson to deep, deep red.
The first two flinched and made soft noises, but Backdoor was last, and she screamed as if she’d never taken a belt before in her life — which was a lie.
Dawg ordered them to spread farther apart, and Knife smiled when he saw the whippy car antenna in Dawg’s hand. This wasn’t likely to be a terribly long competition.
Hot Pocket gasped and squealed on the first strike, but she planted her feet and took the next two in silence.
Three crisp, deep red lines, and Dawg stepped to Freckles, who held her ass higher, wanting the pain.
And she didn’t scream in agony — she moaned in… not bliss, exactly. Pained bliss, perhaps.
Backdoor, as expected, screamed as if she was dying.
And then it was time for Knife to apply the horsewhip. They keep paddles and whips hanging in the clubhouse, and Knife had already grabbed the one he preferred.
A horsewhip is much easier to use when you have an entire back to work with, but Knife was capable of striping an ass, even little tiny ones.
This time, Hot Pocket was the one holding her ass higher, anticipating the pain, and he gave her what she wanted, one after another without pause. Two steps to the side, and he did it again. Freckles didn’t seem to appreciate the whip as much as the antenna, but she stayed still.
Razor was holding Backdoor’s hands to the pool table, and Knife appreciated that. Bitches who can’t stay where you put them are a problem. No one wants to hit a hand instead of an ass.
Well, someone might want to, but Knife didn’t. Not tonight, anyway.
The bitch screamed and carried on enough, Knife thought he might let it wrap around a hip next time — give her a reason to fucking scream.
Dawg took over holding Backdoor’s hands, and Razor applied the tawse to all three asses, clearly enjoying his work. Matty was watching from across the room, a beer in one hand, and he was sitting on his other. Was that to keep from stroking himself? Probably.
Around and around they went. By the fourth rotation, Fist held each girl’s hands down as it was their turn.
Backdoor safeworded on the fifth rotation, seconds after Dawg finished Freckles, knowing she was next.
Things went faster with just two. Then faster still, until they only had seconds to recover between one man and the next.
Their asses were a bruised, mangled mess, and both were openly crying — but also horny as fuck, based on their scent.
Freckles finally sobbed out her safeword, this time just before Razor went at her with the tawse, and that meant Hot Pocket went into Dawg’s arms, sobbing into his chest.
Fist lifted Freckles and carried her to a sofa while telling her, “Love to feel a mouth crying around my cock. We’ll let that ass throb while you cry for me, knowing my dick’s gonna spread it and hurt it when I tire of your mouth.”
Dawg turned to look at Backdoor, her eyes red from crying, sitting in a chair off to the side.
“Get me a beer and then strip. Shoes off, too.”